Soothing Delusions
by LtTanyaBoone
Summary: In the three months you have been here, they have all visited multiple times, all except for her. And now she is here, the clean state of her designer pants and shirt mocking amidst all the filth and dirt." Post-ALIYAH, JIVA


_Disclaimers:_ NCIS, the rights to the show and its characters do not belong to me. No money was made by this._  
Spoilers_: Season 6 finale and first episode of Season 7, takes place in the months between Aliyah and Truth and Consequences_  
Pairing:_ Jenny Shepard/Ziva David romantic pairing_  
Summary:_ In the three months you've been here, they've all visited multiple times, all except for her. And now she is here, the clean state of her designer pants and shirt mocking amidst all the filth and dirt. Post-ALIYAH, JIVA_  
A/N2:_ Experimental second person. I have never written anything in that perspective that I liked before. But I had to get the idea out of my head, and it felt like this perspective fit better than third person.

_**WARNINGS: MENTION OF TOTURE AND RAPE (semi-graphic!)!**_**  
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The air around you is hot and heavy. It drains you of what little water you are given, sweat trickles down your back, tickling you. You lick over your burning lips, trying desperately to moisten the skin. You desperately want a shower. Hell, even a bucket of water simply dumped over your head would make you feel better.

The cut above your eyebrow stings when sweat trickles into the fresh wound. You draw in a sharp breath between your teeth and bite your tongue instantly. They could be standing outside the door. You must not show them your weakness. You have not asked for water, not yet, but you are sure that you are only minutes away from not only asking, but begging them for it, begging for relief for your aching throat, your sore muscles, and your swollen tongue.

Something in the air seems to shift, something is different from one second to the next. With all that is left of your willpower, you stop yourself from groaning out. You would not be able to get out anything else than a soft, hoarse moan, anyhow. There is no point in wasting what little energy you have left.

You know that they are hallucinations. Nothing more. You know, deep down, that you are all alone in this cell, in the world. They are miles away, in a different country that was once your home, on another continent. They have already forgotten about you. You betrayed them. And they will never forgive you for that. So there is no logical reason as to why they should come after you, try to help you, rescue you. Besides, the fact that the guards completely ignored one of them the other day when he was standing right next to him made it clear that they do only exist in your head. But no matter how often you tell yourself that, no matter how painful the things they say are, you feel calm settle over you at the thought that you are not alone in this rotten place any more.

They have all been here by now. Gibbs, the father you always wanted, the father that abandoned you when you needed him the most, like your biological one did. McGee, who was the little brother you never had but always wished for, the one that welcomed you with open arms and made you feel at home, he would never get over what you have done, killed your own blood and done so because of an order. Ducky, the one that should and must have known the most about why you were the way you were, because that person is now gone, he will never understand how you kept this a secret for so long and still looked him square in the eye. Abigail, who is so much like Tali that it sometimes hurts too much to even listen to her voice, she could never accept you back in her family, not after you went behind her back for such a long time. Jimmy, the one never sure what to make of your behavior, he would always shy away from you now, afraid that you might lash out at him at one point. Tony, the one you have no words for to describe, the one that wanted to save you, that once meant so much to you is now living a better life that you are out of the picture. You wonder who it is going to be today, and raise your head, the filthy curls of your hair framing your face. You look into the corner of the room, and blink in surprise.

In the three months you have been here now, they have all visited multiple times, all except for her. And now she is here, standing in the corner, her arms crossed over her Oxford shirt, the clean state of her designer pants and shirt a stark contrast to the dirt all around, almost mocking you. The ever-present heels click soundly as she takes as step away from the wall. Fiery red curls frame her pale face, the green eyes are sparkling, though it is anger that you find in them, anger and frustration. And other than during the times you imagined the others in your cell, neither of you seem to have anything to say to each other. She simply stares at you, and you find yourself squirming under her scrutinizing gaze. You feel like you have betrayed her, failed her. You want to turn away, you want her to go away, to prevent her from seeing you like this, broken and sad, confused and hurting.

Again, soft clicking fills your ears and then she crouches down in front of you, forcing you to look into her eyes. Eyes that suddenly shine with compassion and love. Tears well up in your own and one makes it past your control and slowly trickles down your cheek.

"I am sorry," you whisper into the room, as softly as you can. You cannot alert the guards, if they knew you were hallucinating... you do not even want to imagine in what kind they would use this piece of information for your future torture, for the pain they are planning on inflicting on you.

To your surprise, she slowly shakes her head and reaches up to softly touch your cheek. You draw in a shuddering breath. She is dead; you know that this is not real. Still it feels as if she is really there, touching you, caressing your face. You want to be able to touch her, to bury yourself in her embrace, sob into her shoulder, let her comfort you and tell you it will be alright, that it is not going to be long now, that you will be free soon, one way or another, you don't care.

"I know." Her soft voice fills the room, and she stands, kissing your forehead gently. Again, she looks into your eyes, searching them, searching your face, and as you draw another shaky breath, you inhale the scent of her shampoo, strawberry and vanilla. Your hands strain against the rope they are bound with on your back. Maybe it is for the better, because the instant you would brush against her, she would disappear, and you would be left alone in your cell again. As long as you cannot touch her, are not free to move your hands to her body, you can pretend that she is really there, that you are not alone right now.

"I never told you, but I loved you. I really did, Jenny," you whisper, fresh tears breaking out, wetting your dry cheeks, burning on the cuts and splits.

"I know," she just repeats, and her hands come to rest on your thighs carefully. "It's not going to be long now, Zibilya. You'll be out of here soon. Just hang in there, okay? It's not your time, sweetheart, not yet." she tells you, her breath warm on your face. It smells of sunshine and raspberries and honey, of lazy Sundays spent tangled up in each other in a comfortable bed, and your tongue darts out, trying to wet your split and dry lips in anticipation. You lean forward slightly, your eyes drooping, waiting for a kiss from those soft full lips, something you have been longing for for a year now.

"I want to go with you. Please, Malach, please, do not leave be behind again." Speaking hurts your throat; you can feel it closing up as you form the words, a soft sob escaping you. You feel her hand on your filthy curls, a soft caress, so unlike the harsh blows you have experienced the last months; the rough treatment that was all the physical contact you had. That and something much worse, something you immediately refuse to admit and think about, because you know you will break down and lose your grip completely when you begin to think about what they have done to you, the way their bodies felt above you.

"One day, we'll be together again. I promise, sweetie. But not just yet. I wish I could take your pain away, but I can't. You won't have to suffer for long now, I promise," she tells you, carefully stroking your hair, tears swimming in her green eyes filled with so much love and compassion that you have to close your eyes and bite your lip to keep from crying out loud.

"You must hate me," you sob quietly. You do not deserve this. She had barely been dead a week when you jumped your new Mossad partner. And look where that got you, you fell for Michael Rivkin and now you are getting the deserved punishment for your betrayal of NCIS, Mossad, and your Malach of all people. You never wanted to let go of her, your swore that you would never be with anyone else, and you did not even wait until her body had turned cold before starting an affair and then relationship with a man that turned out to just toy with you.

"I could never hate you, Zibilya. Never ever. I would have done the same. I could not bear the thought of ever losing you. I understand, sweetheart," she tells you.

The harsh bang of metal against metal makes you jump in your chair. You start to shake your head vehemently. No. No, not again. No, they cannot be coming back already. You need more time; you need more time with her. No, not just yet, she cannot be leaving just yet, she has just arrived, and who knows when she will be back.

"Sh, it's okay. It's okay, sh, Zibilya. Do you want me to go? Or stay?" she asks you, searching your eyes, an urgency in your voice that you have rarely caught when she was talking to you in the past. You open your mouth as the guard in front of your door starts speaking in Arabic. If she stays, she will see what happens, what has been happening every evening after an interrogation. You do not want her to see this. Yet, you are not sure if you can be alone through this, if you can take this, the stale breath on your face, the heavy body above you, the way he moves inside of you, no matter who he is going to be tonight. Tears roll down your cheeks as you swallow thickly.

"Stay," you whimper as the door handle is pushed down with a protesting creak. A sharp nod, then the feeling of soft lips against yours, a gentle caress as she leans in and kisses you carefully before she quickly steps back.

Her eyes never leave your own throughout the ordeal. She sits in the corner of your cell, her knees drawn up, her arms hugging them to her. You have your head turned and stare ahead. He notices that something is different. You do not fight this time, you are too weak, and you do not want to cry in front of her, not like you did the last times. You do not want her to hear the screams of pain and anguish. So you surrender. You just let him do what he wants, feeling him fuck you, his rough hands painfully groping you.

He talks to you, but you are too far away to understand the Arabic words. You have to concentrate on her. She takes you to a better place, the look in her eyes of such a burning intensity that you are hypnotized by it. The filthy, harsh floor beneath you transforms into a soft bed, the stench of urine morphs into the soft rosy smell of the scented candles of her bedroom. The hands that push your legs apart transform into gentler ones that move over your skin with feather-like brushes and caresses. You let the memories of your nights together come back and embrace the distraction. It is so hard to imagine her small frame where his bulky one is invading you, but her presence helps. You do not even notice when he is done and gets up, the slamming of the door pulls you back to the present. With a whimper, you turn on your side, and pull your knees up, leaving you lying naked on the floor, rolled into a ball. You hug your knees to your chest to cover as much of your naked body as you can and rock yourself gently as you cry. She crawls over to you, lies down next to you and gently strokes your hair again, whispering soft words of comfort and love.

When you awake, Saleem is standing over you. He throws you a stack of strangely clean clothing when compared to what you have been wearing before, and waits impatiently as you put it on. Your hands are bound again, and before he places a heavy hood on your head, your eyes skid to the corner of your cell.

She is there, a reassuring but sad smile on her soft lips. She mouths an "I love you" before your world is plunged into darkness.

Your body screams in protest as he pushes you through the hallway and then down on a wooden chair. You hear him speaking, but what he says does not make any sense. You want to go back to your cell, back to your hallucinations, back to her, back to her comforting presence. And then the hood is pulled away, and your world is blinding whiteness, and then a face comes into focus, and you want to kick and scream and cry out in pain and anger and relief.

And you know she was right, she did not break her promise. She told you it would not be long now. And you know it is true. Because Tony and McGee are there, and even if their plan fails and you all die, it will be over. Finally, it will end.

_**THE END**_

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_Review? Pretty please?_

_A/N3: I'm really not sure about this. So I would appreciate any review [as long as it's not a flame, that is]. Also, I used an online dictionary, which told me that "malach" is Hebrew for angel. Hopefully it was right, if not, I apologize for the mistake._


End file.
